It's Always The Happy Ones
by forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: Ron and Seamus discover how similar they are and try to save each other from themselves. Warning: slash, language and themes of self-harm and suicide
1. Someone Like Me

Chapter 1 – Someone Like Me

As Ron climbed the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, he wondered if he'd actually go through with it this time. He'd lost count of how many times he'd trudged up those steps, stopping every so often to lean against the stone and pant, gulping down the metallic taste in his throat before continuing on, working hard to earn the breath-taking view and a wondrous idea. It was a hard means to a beautiful end. Though he was beginning to suspect that he was more taken with the idea than the reality, at least that what's he'd read in that book on depression he'd sneaked from the library. The conviction that it was easy to end the sadness comforted him; he was miserable and felt isolated but he wasn't trapped. To Ron, being backed into a corner was his worst fear, being restrained in any way was an unbearable nightmare; whenever those damned twins had a glint in their eyes he'd silently beg that whatever humiliation they had planned, it wasn't anything like that time when he was 7 and they'd locked him in his closet for the whole night. He still had nightmares about it and even though his mum had made the twins apologise and the brothers would sometimes share soft moments, he had held on to a fear of them. So the fact that he had an escape route made his life liveable. But that didn't stop him from climbing anyway. It was the only place he felt peaceful nowadays, the only place where he could be himself.

He loved Hogwarts; the warmth and grandeur of the castle, the challenge and interest of the classes and…the people. All of his friends were there, along with his sister; the twins having left the year before, thank the Gods. But he almost missed them because their absence emphasised the drifting sensation he was now feeling. There was no place for him anymore: Hermione and Harry were growing closer by the day, laughing more and literally cosying up to each other in front of the fire whilst they 'studied'. Harry had admitted to Ron that he fancied her and it didn't take a genius to read her expressions whenever Harry was around; it was only a matter of time. If Harry and Hermione were dancing round each other, Ginny and Dean were full on tangoing. Although not happy about it, Ron could see that they were good for each other; out of all the boys in Hogwarts, Dean was probably the best of them – save Harry – to be trusted to date his little sister. He was warm, loving and respectful, everything Ginny deserved. She didn't need her brother now. No one did.

He guessed he was fun to have around sometimes but not necessary, not needed. Forcing down his crushing shame at the laughably bad performance he'd given at the Ministry the year before, he pushed his dead legs onwards. He'd told Harry and Hermione that he was just owling a letter. They hadn't asked to whom, he doubted that they'd even registered his excuse for slipping out of the common room. That was to be expected he supposed. He patted his inside cloak pocket absent-mindedly, checking that the suicide note was still there. It was an unnecessary ritual; he hadn't taken it out from there since he'd first gone up to the Tower with suicidal intentions. It was oddly comforting, knowing that he could go anytime and not have to worry too much about leaving much confusion; because in his head, the only reaction from his family and friends would be disappointment and miscomprehension. He didn't like to brag, but the only thing he'd really excelled in was lying; not telling lies exactly, just projecting false images of himself. He would lose control when Malfoy could raise his temper but if something upset him, he'd either turn it into anger or paint a smile on his face and so far, no one had ever called his bluff. Then again, everyone had someone, why should they notice? Why did they need him as well?

…

Walking up the last few steps he had a straight view of the paneless windows and gasped as he saw a figure throw itself out of the Tower. Instinctively Ron lunged forward and drew out his wand, crying out a desperate levitation spell. Hand steady, he strode the last few paces to the edge, all the while chanting the spell to lift the figure back towards the window, eyes fixed on the cloak of what looked like a boy. Gulping he stepped back to let the figure gently down on the floor; panting from the relief and stress he was stunned to look down and recognise the jumper.

"You eejit!" The irate boy leapt up and punched Ron across the face; still a little shocked, Ron took another hit before snapping into defence strikes and attempts to hold the wild thing down. The pair struggled, arms and legs bearing the brunt of the twists and turns of their torsos against the stone as they moulded together and hit each other apart. Eventually when their hits became mere slaps and their tussling weak grabs, Seamus broke down and began to sob. Without hesitating Ron slipped his arms around his trembling dorm-mate and held him tightly. Considering it later, Ron theorised that his own desire to be comforted and the recognition he'd had of Seamus' pain had instantly overridden his blokish persona without much fight. Or something like that. Self-diagnosis was difficult, especially when you'd only read bits and pieces from boring medical books and also were possibly depressed.

"W-why dddidn't y-you let me?" Whispering what he hoped were comforting things, Ron tried to ignore the pain clear in that strained voice as he felt that shaking body clinging onto him firmly. Sinking into a sitting position from his awkward crouch, Ron pulled the sobbing boy half onto his lap without much resistance. As he sat there, trying to sooth the trembling heap on top of him, he frowned in thought.

He had his own reasons for considering to end it all; why Seamus though? What possible reason could he have for wanting to die? He was the life and soul of the party, of every party ever thrown in their entire history at Hogwarts; he was the light of their dorm, always ready with rude jokes, implausible but highly entertaining anecdotes and a cheerful humour. He seemed far too happy all the time to possibly be depressed. Ron paused in thought as another sob wracked the wretched body in his arms. But then again, couldn't the same be said for himself? Well, he wasn't the life and soul of the party but he certainly could contribute to it, when he wanted to. Until recently he'd always had a snappy comeback or rubbish joke to draw some laughs from his friends. Oh no, better not dwell on them again. The pair shifted slightly and glancing down, Ron caught sight of a red mark on Seamus' wrist. It was awkward to try and see it better without pulling away, something he knew would be a very bad decision, so he squeezed a bit tighter and tilted his head as far to the right as it would go so he could see past Seamus' hair. Still, his view only allowed him to see a small part of the mark and so he tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head that claimed to know what it was: thin line, probably done with a knife, self-inflicted. A few sniffles drew him out of his thoughts, though quietening, the boy showed no signs of loosening his grip. His mind flicked back to the furious scar. Well, that was something new, he'd never…he'd never even thought of, of doing something like that.

There had been a chapter on self-harm in the book. He'd skimmed through it, not really identifying with any of the signs or symptoms of that kind of unnatural despair. From what he could remember, it was usually a symptom of loss of sensation, a numbness; often born of a need to feel something within the dark, something, anything to feel alive. That really didn't sound like Seamus. But then again, his whole perception of the boy was being challenged; if he thought about it, how well did he really know anyone apart from Harry, Hermione and his family? Most of the time anyway, lately… _Stop thinking about it!_

So there the pair sat, clutching each other half-desperately at the top of the Astronomy Tower, not looking at each other, just feeling warmth in the cold air. Still Ron didn't speak – what could he possibly say? – he just held that calming figure in his arms; feeling a little spark of joy in the pit of his stomach at the thought of being needed. While he wasn't sure of the exact response he'd eventually receive once his roommate had calmed down, he knew that at least for the moment he was helping; he was comforting Seamus, he was giving him something worthwhile. So even though he was holding one of his friends who had just tried to kill himself, his legs were getting pins and needles and his perception of his roommate was rapidly un-stabilising, he felt ashamedly happy.

…

The clock struck seven and reluctantly Seamus pulled out of Ron's arms, wiping his face and standing up shakily. Although he avoided eye-contact and shrugged off the concerned boy's attentions, Seamus allowed himself to be directed to dinner, trying to restore contentment onto his face. Neither spoke on the long walk to the Great Hall, lost in their own thoughts. Chatting groups milled around them, excited, care-free and loud; thankfully they weren't noticed by anyone they knew as their stiff gaits and obvious silence would have been very noteworthy and uncomfortable. By the time they'd sat down, the Irish boy had lightened up and launched straight into an awful anecdote that everyone had heard before but although groaning, never refused to listen to. Ron was and wasn't surprised by this feat of self-control; he'd expected it and even related it to times he'd managed to drag a smile onto his face and force himself to be energetic and cheerful, but it was still worrying. He was uncomfortable by the thought and it made him realise that some serious thinking needed to be done. As far as he could tell, he was the only one who knew of Seamus' other side and he knew that as soon as he had to opportunity the other boy would try some damage control. But how? What could he actually do or say? Ron had to prepare himself for the arguments and reasoning he'd be faced with and he had a feeling that he'd need that book again, need to study it properly this time. A strong sense of responsibility came over him and suddenly Seamus was his new brother and he needed help. He needed Ron.

Sitting back whilst taking a sip of pumpkin juice, Seamus tried to clear the dark thoughts that had been crowding his mind. He'd been ready; he'd talked himself up into it. It had been a long time coming and such a tremendous relief to feel the weight being plied off his shoulders as he'd climbed. The view had been breath-taking, the sun still strong in the sky and the land illuminated and saturated with rich colours; the grand mountains were every shade of blue, ending with white peaks against the eggshell blue sky, the great expanses of grass and trees dark and shining greens and browns and there were splashes of other, vibrant colours amongst the distant fields. Cutting against the soft background, unidentifiable black bird-shapes had swooped and climbed, intertwining and dancing throughout the sky. It had been a perfect last view. Then he'd thrown himself into nothingness; he'd done it, no way back. Suspended in the air he'd felt like the whole world was surrounding him, like he could feel everything in the universe through the wind against his skin. He saw the ground and felt so many emotions overwhelming him. Intense joy, clawing fear, insane hilarity and bitter regret all rolling wildly around in his head, already dizzy with a single thought whispering through the storm. _I'm going to die._

Suddenly he'd stopped falling, an abrupt jerk halted him and then steadily, he was being pulled back. He'd been unsure of whether he was in reality or if he'd somehow already died and this was him ascending. His father had often tried to talk to him about Catholicism. He hadn't really been sure about the whole 'God' thing before Hogwarts and when he'd come, magic had distracted him from any deep philosophical ponderings. So he wasn't sure what was happening: for a moment, it felt like the world wanted him back. Being lifted up from the brink felt glorious, the adrenalin pumping through him suddenly became more powerful, his whole being fizzing with energy. Euphoria lit up his own being and he felt like he was about to find his true home. But then the stone walls came into view and as he crumpled into a heap, the coolness of the stone shocked him from the ethereal haze he'd been bathed in. And there was someone behind him. Anger rose fiercely inside his chest as a reckless self-righteousness exploded inside of him. He'd been cheated from his answer to the endless darkness; someone had stolen his peace, his rest, his end. Rage crackled into his limbs as he'd kicked and punched and near screamed raw his throat before eventually it had faded and left him with empty despair. Weakly, he'd clung to the warm body, so quietly and sympathetically offered as he'd sobbed. It wasn't fair!

In some respects he felt ridiculous wallowing in nothingness if he compared his 'pain' to that of Harry or Neville. Yes, he did know about Neville's parents, completely by accident, the letter from Mrs Longbottom had just fallen open, but yes, he did know. So when he compared his fairly stable family life and lack of real problems to that of two of his closest friends, he felt stupid. But despite his shame and feeling of unworthiness, still the gaping oblivion loomed; he couldn't help it, he was always drawn in, helpless. He didn't ask to feel that way, just as he hadn't particularly planned to be such a source of fun and just, noise, that it was a constant effort to maintain the façade. Starting out in First Year, he hadn't known that he was to regret earning such a reputation when later on he'd feel like sinking into the ground or hiding under an Invisiblity Cloak all the time. No, he'd never foreseen or invited this darkness into his soul. That's what it felt like, a stain, a dark scar blistering in his very being.

And now there was Ron. He didn't know what to think about that particular problem. It almost seemed an insignificant detail when compared to the massive emotional turmoil he went through on a regular basis, but he knew in the back of his head that someone knowing his secret was definitely a bad thing. He liked Ron, they were friends; they weren't as close as Ron was to Harry but then again, no one was closer than those two. In fact, they were so in tune that some had questioned the nature of their relationship. Personally, Seamus thought that it was simple friendship; those two were the straightest boys he'd ever seen, so frigid when it came to sex, though Ron was fun, laughing and joking with a cheeky grin, even when he was moody, a sarcastic and faux-bitter retort never far from his lips. He wasn't the deepest of guys, not that Seamus had seen anyway. But then again, Ron had not reacted the way that Seamus had expected. It was true that he hadn't thought long and hard about possible reactions to his darkest thoughts, but the fleeting mental pictures of reactions didn't include comforting murmurs and a strong embrace with no questions asked. No, there had been understanding in his quiet voice and he hadn't pulled away or tried to get answers.

The last thing he needed was to have Ron running off to tell on him, to draw the kind of attention that he couldn't get rid of, the concern of those with the power to stop him. It was a very real fear, the fear of being trapped in his horrible existence, with no escape. But then, he forced himself to calm down, what was Ron doing at the top of the Tower anyway? He hardly took the red-head to be one to admire the scenery. Maybe he'd had similar motives? No. No way. Sneaking a look at his roommate from under his lashes, he saw the boy obviously in thought but not too deep to miss hearing his name. He looked up and answered Hermione's question with his little quirky smile. The change in his expression had been rapid and firm, definitely forced; so at the very least Ron was someone who could act alright when he wasn't. Though that wasn't really evidence; it wasn't like there were physical signs that you could interpret and figure out if someone was suicidal. Maybe Ron really understood his pain? If he managed to hide his depression reasonably well, then maybe there were others too, why not Ron? His mind whirred with different thoughts and ideas but the strongest voice in his head was the one of weariness. Having to stitch on a smile each day when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry was exhausting. He held back a heavy sigh; what was he going to do now? What was going to happen next?

He supposed that only time would tell. Thanks to Ron, he now had more time in which to figure it out.


	2. Not Alone

Chapter 2 – Not Alone

It shouldn't be possible to manage to avoid talking about something so important, so deadly, with someone you saw every day. Ron continued looking sightlessly down at the book on his lap, not feeling the warmth from the fire to his side or hearing his friends talking quietly across from him, all his attention focused on the figure in his peripheral vision. Seamus was chatting with some of the other boys, casual and relaxed, leaning against the wall near the noticeboard, no doubt in the middle of an inappropriate story judging from how they were huddled and giggling. It was the third day since he'd discovered his dorm mate's secret and despite tearing his hair out over what to do and nervously watching his every move, as covertly as he could, he hadn't actually done anything about it. Every spare minute he'd had, he'd been keeping tabs on him, checking he's in sight, asking people to confirm he's where he should be if he's elsewhere, staying up as late as he can to make sure he doesn't sneak out and rising early to see if he's still in bed. So far Seamus hadn't shown any signs of attempting…it, again, but Ron was still nervous and had started to almost stalk him to try and satisfy the gnawing fear in his stomach. He couldn't corner the boy in the bathroom or anything, there were a lot of obstacles in the way of privacy in the school and you couldn't just corner Seamus Finnigan if he didn't want you to. And even if he could get him alone, what would he say? What could he say? His vision blurred as he shouted in his head. _Oh Gods what am I going to do?_

He couldn't tell anyone. Hermione's voice in his head disagreed in horror, but he pushed it down. No, it wasn't his secret to tell, it wasn't, really, any of his business. Risking another glance, his mind quickly analysing as much of the scene as he could, he begrudgingly dispelled the notion that he could un-involve himself. Seamus was his dorm mate and his friend, it would be as wrong as telling someone if he didn't try to do something himself. But do what? As far as he had thought, talking to him would no doubt prove pointless – what could Ron say that Seamus hadn't already thought of? – but he couldn't think of any other plan of action.

Alright, he was going to corner him and make him talk. Maybe he could get the reason for Seamus' decision and try to reason him out of it. He swallowed the self-deprecating laugh that had rolled up his throat; he was the worst person to try and convince someone to live. He gulped again and shook his head minutely, no, seeing someone actually throw themselves from that place had snatched away any idea of suicide. The horror that had bolted through him, the residual fear of his dorm mate actually, actually going through with it… It was too ugly, too dark for him. Yes Ron was melancholy and alone, oh so alone, but he just wouldn't be able to leave, not yet anyway. He breathed in deeply, lifting his head and closing his eyes at this revelation; he forgot about the fire and the book and the people all around, he was just in his head, a flickering light becoming still and strong. Picking up on the sounds of the outside world again, he opened his eyes hurriedly, checked that no one was looking, and then turned his gaze back onto the page, eyes still seeking out the peripheral figure. He was still there, still acting. So, maybe he still wasn't the best person for the job, but he could give it a damn try. And maybe he could succeed. Feeling a little more hopeful, Ron blinked and tried to read properly, figuring that he'll find the right time the next day to try out his plan.

…

Seamus was depressed, he wasn't an idiot; he knew exactly what Ron was doing and he didn't like it. Some part of him appreciated the attention, secretly and darkly craving affection, but the majority of him saw the risk of someone else knowing, someone in the position to tell, to make it public, to cage him in. It was terrifying. Somehow, he knew that Ron wouldn't get bored or become satisfied with the lack of worrying signs, whether this was because of his inability to act convincingly all of the time or Ron's stubbornness, he wasn't sure. But nevertheless, he was going to need to do something about it. What to do, just…talk about it? Sure, he could see how well that would work, just sit the boy down and ask him not to stop him from topping himself if he feels like it. Great plan. Seamus half-growled, he was being followed now, he could feel those concerned eyes; walking down a random corridor after dinner, pulling his bag higher up on his shoulder. Enough, it was time to end this ridiculousness. Snapping and pulling the other boy into a random classroom, he quickly checked it was empty before turning to the slightly startled red-head and hissed violently.

"Stop following me!" His stalker didn't waver despite the harshness of his tone, eyes soft and stance strong he didn't move forward but when he spoke, it was like his voice was reaching out across the void between them: quiet, but firm.

"No." Sparking violently he took a powered step towards the other boy, eyes furious as he yelled.

"Fuck off! Leave me alone you poofter!" Ron flinched but didn't avert his gaze or answer and this swung Seamus' temper off-kilter. Doubt expanding in his chest he snapped angrily. "It's not cool to stalk your mates Ron, it's…" Those eyes, steady and deep, cut him off and drained every drop of energy left, till hopelessness wallowed alone in his chest, "just, just leave me alone." There it was again, that sad voice, where had it been hiding all this time?

"No." Seamus felt himself calming and slowly, ever so slowly, a tentative hand found one of his quivering shoulders and murmured. "You're not alone." _Wrong, oh God, empty, empty words_. He shoved the hand off, growling, his anger sparking again and flaring with each punctuated word.

"Oh yeah? Not alone? You're with me on this?" Indignant and mad like a caged tiger he paced, stiff fingers twisting his hair and shaking as his cheeks rushed with maddened heat. Ron watched him, his insides churning as his mind raced with pointless words and meaningless gestures. _Think Ron, Think!_ The tirade flowed on. "You don't know shite, following me around like some goody Samaritan stalker!" Finding those damn goody-two-shoe eyes he felt something inside of him break as he shouted. "You have no idea how I feel!" Growling, he pulled at the door, too enraged to realise that a quick spell had locked it, too manic to even remember which pocket his wand was in, too afraid to listen to reason. _Oh God let it end, let it all end._ Suddenly he stilled, he'd heard his name. Gulping down the dog-like spittle which had been flooding his iron jaw, he felt the other boy's presence close behind him; before he could react, however, the calming voice came back.

"You feel like there isn't any light, like the world is dimming or you're going blind." Taken aback, the dark-haired boy froze, ears pricking up as he suppressed a cold shiver. "You know you're cold but you don't care or, you don't really feel it…" Suddenly, it sounded a lot more personal, traces of pain seeping into the words. "Everyone else is happy and smiling and you feel sick and empty at the same time." That understanding hand found his shoulder again and he welcomed it, closing his eyes and trying to remember to breathe. "It's such an effort to smile… so you hate being around people because you have to act. But at the same time you want someone to ask how you are, to notice…You feel completely and… unbearably, alone, and there's nothing you can do about it." Then there was just their breaths filling the air, soft and sad and together; it was almost nice. Ron snorted breathily breaking the spell and muttered sarcastically, as if unable to help himself. "Yeah, I have no idea." There was a strained pause before Seamus turned slightly; feeling a flash of loss as their physical contact was broken but still holding onto the corners of his defences shook his head breathily.

"Not you Ron, you can't-" his eyes roamed the room as he tried to rationalise it. "You can't be like this, it isn't you." A snort made him look into those melancholy blue eyes, and seeing that small, painful smirk, he understood and accepted it. Letting all of his breath out slowly, Seamus closed his eyes again, shoulders slumped and head suddenly heavy. His head was a hurricane of thoughts and flashes of dark emotions; it was all too much. "I…I just need some air." Opening his eyes he saw the other boy about to speak. "Don't-" Ron blinked but didn't look away, Seamus almost laughed, good old Ron with those eyes that never looked away. Who would have guessed at his courage, at least in dealing with…this? A cautious acceptance settled into the blue pools and the Irish boy felt safe enough to say quietly, "I'll be fine," stern lips cut him off and opened up his throat, "for a bit. Just give me a little while?" Stomach clenching and unclenching, the red-head nodded softly and suddenly the dark-haired boy turned and walked briskly away, hands wiping his face vigorously as he went.

Watching him leave, the concerned let out his own held breath, his mind sorting quickly through what had just happened. He seemed to have gained a little of Seamus' trust and to convince him that they weren't so different; it was a start, a good start if only that. Shaking out his nervous energy he shifted from foot to foot and walked out into the corridor. He knew that he'd agreed to give the other some time, Ron sighed, he knew that Seamus needed space to think things over and organise it all in his head, but his gut wasn't letting him relax about it. He snuck up to the Gryffindor dorms and stole away with his broom, no one stopping him, though Harry did give him a questioning look to which Ron mouthed 'practice, back late'. It was still quite light out so his excuse was accepted readily and as he reluctantly began to jog in the direction Seamus had hurried, he hoped he knew where he was going.

…

Ron sighed with relief as he leapt up the last step of the Tower and saw the huddled figure sitting on the edge. He dropped his broom in a corner, walked over to the shivering body and sat down heavily, still breathless from his mad dash up the stairs, and set his bag down beside him, rolling his shoulder wincingly. Seamus didn't say anything, just kept his chin on his knees, staring out at the view. Concentrating hard, Ron cast a warming spell and smiled as he saw his friend sit up a bit and relax into the hotter air. Satisfied, he turned his head to the slumped shoulders, biting his tongue and trying to keep all his worry bunched up in his eyes, trying not to smother and push the other away. After a while, Seamus spoke faltingly.

"Why am I like this?" With a little smile, Ron reached into his bag and pulled out a book.

"Well, it's funny you should ask…" Curiosity piercing through the gloom, Seamus looked down and read the title: 'How to Charm Away the Blues'. He snorted, sounded simple enough.

"I tell ya Ron you're spending way too much time with Hermione." Feeling slightly better, he ran his eyes over the cover a bit, only looking up at him when he noticed that Ron hadn't answered. Raising an eyebrow as he observed the stillness on his friend's face, Seamus waited, knowing that an explanation was coming. After a moment of tension Ron blinked and shook his head, trying to repel the curiosity without much success, but Seamus didn't push, returning the favour. Despite himself, he found himself opening the book to the table of contents, reading the titles of the chapters with a mixture of mirth and fear. Tosspots didn't know what the hell they were talking about, he thought derisively as he flicked through, the depressing drawings on the page edges amusing him. He was vaguely aware of Ron's attention on him and the book, but didn't feel it was too intense or worried; his little surprise speech from earlier had actually helped ease Seamus' sense of hopelessness a bit. He felt like he could talk about some things with his friend, not everything mind, but some things he could share and not feel judged or in danger of being ratted out. There was a chance for understanding and he wasn't too far gone not to recognise the value in that. Sitting there with a warm body next to him, Seamus was eternally grateful that Ron didn't ask any questions, especially as he thought that he couldn't answer them if he tried.

Some part of Seamus thought that he should really read the book, particularly the parts outlining different conditions and the recommended treatments, but the bigger part of him couldn't bear to. It would feel…too official. No, that wasn't the word. Real? Whatever it was, Seamus let his eyes wonder without reading any of it, only registering a few words now and then: depression, isolated, manic episodes and help. As he fake-perused, his companion alternated between watching him and looking out at the waning afternoon; a soft breeze ruffling their hair and clothes, the air gradually getting colder and colder.

It was getting late, probably after curfew, but Ron knew that Seamus didn't want to go back just yet and neither did he. Sitting awfully close together, closing the book they'd stopped looking at a while ago, they tensed simultaneously, as if suddenly aware of each other. They both knew that they were now wading into foreign territory and however confident Ron had been in asserting his support earlier, he was feeling less sure now. His dorm mate was not at all helpful, sitting stiffly and avoiding eye-contact. In the end Ron conjured a blanket to cover the both of them, still silent. Turning his gaze to the breath-taking view, idly wondering why he hadn't come across Seamus at the Tower before that fateful day, Ron shuffled a little closer to his viewing partner and realised with a spark of warm surprise that the drowsy Irish boy was nuzzling up to him. That heavy head settled itself on his shoulder, short soft hair tickling his neck and jaw and a clumsy hand pulled gently at his shirt as the half-asleep boy slowly fell into him. A small smile curling his lips, Ron put an arm around his dorm-mate and breathed in deeply as he felt his friend fall fully asleep. It was rare to see the hard-headed boy so vulnerable like that, the redhead was truly honoured. He figured he'd let him be a while longer before waking him and journeying back, then they should be able to slip in. Ron thanked his past-self for warning Harry that he'd be late so he wouldn't worry, and that was the last thought he remembered before sliding into darkness.

…

A gentle light woke Ron up, warm fingers stroking his upturned cheek, his body felt stiff from the awkward position he was lying in. Vaguely he recognised that it was almost day time, a little while after dawn perhaps. Funny, Ron didn't remember falling asleep. It was then that he realised that he was alone. Snapping up, crazed worry overpowering his groaning muscles, he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his bag and rushed to the door all but falling down the stairs as he tried to calm manic thoughts. Seamus where've you gone? He hadn't seen his bag in the small space so he can't have just… Rational answers called faintly through the roaring of fear crashing between his ears but he couldn't concentrate on them as his feet pounded through the empty corridors, pink light reaching out through the windows. _Shit, shit and…argh!_ Maybe he should get someone, call for help? Who? Where? What would he say? Oh Gods above, his insides were ripping themselves apart. He's so stupid, why did he fall asleep? Seamus. _Seamus. _Bursting out into the cool air brought little relief to his damp forehead, heaving chest and tightly fisted hands. Panting, he sped along into the grounds, wishing he'd mastered that locating spell he vaguely remembered from some class a few weeks ago. Even the name of it escaped him as he ran, trying to think of other places to search.

Suddenly, a dot in the distance made him double take and he slowed down, his muscles protesting as he screeched to a halt. It was definitely a person, sitting down by the lake. Gulping the coppery taste down in his throat and trying to calm his breathing, Ron began to walk over, legs weak. As he came up he saw that it was his run-away friend and that he seemed perfectly fine. The git. He felt a little foolish at his panic and also confused by the strength of it; he knew that he'd taken on an almost brotherly concern for Seamus, but he hadn't fully realised the force of his instinctual reactions. He eyed the figure carefully as he approached, not able to see any worrying expression on the profile. The contemplative boy spared him a glance upwards, the look simultaneously calming and reassuring. Feeling the knots in his stomach loosening completely, the red-headed boy smiled broadly, too tired and relieved to be angry, and settled himself beside the other. They sat in a further silence before he ventured quietly.

"Thinking?" A small smile answered him. Gulping down some spittle, Ron sniffed and mirrored his position, knees drawn up by loosely linked fingers, head facing out onto the still lake. It was nice, the quiet between them.

"I like being outside. It's…calming." Now with his breath back, Ron hummed agreement and glanced at the sky, taking in the low sun over the distant trees. There was so much that Seamus wanted to say but he knew he wouldn't be able to find the words, that'd never been one of his strengths. Turning his head, he took in his dorm mate's face, trying to figure out what he was feeling; he'd guessed that his absence had freaked the other boy out and a mixture of guilt and warm gratitude flooded him. Their eyes met. Without really thinking, the boys felt something between them, staring at each other. Slowly, achingly, they both found themselves being drawn in together, a magnet sparking their lips tingling and then meeting, soft and yielding and hungry.


End file.
